A So-Called Return
by FionaTailynn
Summary: When Sherlock returns to 221B after three years of absence, the flat is empty. The wait to see his friend again is so unbearable, that he decides to solve a case of mysterious kidnappings to pass the time. However, once he follows the trail he meets an odd bow tie wearing man and non other than John Watson, who is far from pleased to see him. Will Sherlock be forgiven?


_**A/N:** **Look, I know that there isn't much Who at first, but just bear with me! The Doctor will come into this in not too long! Enjoy :)**_

_Sherlock_

Sherlock stared at John stiffly, whose eyes were flashing around the beautiful scenery. His hands were in his pockets and he smiled as he looked at his friend. The wind blew through his curls and after all that had happened; his so-called "return", his encounter with the strange Time Lord, well everything in the last couple of hours really, he finally was able to relax.  
~

_Three hours earlier_

_Right, left, right, left, right, left, don't you dare lose your balance, Holmes!_

Though out of breath, Sherlock kept on running passed the many houses of Baker Street.

153, 155...

He kept looking at the house numbers, as if he was afraid that he'd miss 221, though that seemed quite improbable. His legs already felt like they were giving in but after three years of hiding away in the dark the excitement of finally coming back was carrying him most of the way. He was just about to stop for a couple seconds to catch his breath, but when he passed house number 201 he got another rush of adrenaline and sprinted passed the last ten houses in doubled the speed he was running at before.  
Finally in front of the familiar black door, Sherlock knelt over and placed his hands on his knees, taking deep, long breaths one at a time. But even that didn't last long, because a couple seconds later he jumped over the steps and frantically reached for the rusty key in his coat pocket he'd kept all this time and with shaking hands forced it into the slot.  
After some pulling and pushing at the knob the door finally opened. Sherlock ripped the key out and stuffed it back in his coat while running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He stood still in front of the door to the living room of 221B, and tried to calm himself down a little. Sherlock closed his eyes, murmuring the explanation he had planned word for word months in advance, triple checking whether any of it could be interpreted the wrong way. When he deemed the time correct he slowly placed his hand on the knob and cautiously turned it.  
"John!" The room was empty.

Sherlock gingerly stepped in looking in every direction. Not much had changed, the smiley on the wall was starting to fade slightly, and his skull needed some serious polishing, but other than that, it was still good old 221B. Sherlock smiled at the memories, but then he wondered where John was. He was usually home at this time.  
"John?" he asked loud enough so that if John were in another room, he could still hear him clearly. No one replied. Sherlock took a couple steps towards John's desk and scanned the area.

_Observation: Empty mug on the table, brown spot on the rug, was left there, John's laptop on and logged in.  
Deduction: He left in a hurry because something unexpected happened, which caused him to spill his tea and only had time to pick up the mug and not clean up the tea.  
_  
Sherlock sighed, annoyed that he'd have to wait even longer for his reunion. He closed his eyes and let himself fall into the comfortable sofa. First he tried to sleep, but he just kept tossing and turning around on it so he decided to simply read the papers. He reached to the side and took the single newspaper placed on the coffee table.

_Boring, boring, boring, bo- What's this?  
_Sherlock sat up as he pulled the newspaper closer to his face:

YET ANOTHER DISAPPEARING IN LONDON, IS ANYWHERE STILL SAFE?

Yesterday, at approximately 18:30, Mrs Jeanette Flynn was reported missing, after she didn't return from her shopping spree. This is already the 15th presumed kidnapping in the last month, for which the cause is still unknown. The victims seem to have no connection in either location or to each other. So far, there have also been speculations that...

Sherlock quickly flew over the rest of the article and decided that cracking the pattern would be a nice puzzle to pass the time. He stood up and got the largest map of the greater London area from the shelf. After spreading it out on the desk, he took a pen and marked the places the 15 victims had last been seen by witnesses. After that, he drew circles around them with an approximate half a mile radius. This narrowed things down a lot.

Since John's laptop was already logged in, he figured he could use it as well. He took a closer look at all his one mile diameter areas, and when somehow he managed to have all fifteen pages opened at once, he very quickly understood.  
"Found it," he shouted proudly, only to then remember he was alone in the flat. He then randomly started pacing around the flat, when suddenly he noticed the post-it note on the fridge:

Off to Scotland in a rush, probably going to be away for a few days. -J  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. It seemed odd that he'd spontaneously make an intervention to Scotland. Then Sherlock remembered the article and a bad idea crept over him. He pursed his lips, re-checking the maps to be sure it wasn't a possibility. He breathed out slowly, still finding John's sudden departure odd though.

Now he really couldn't stand not telling John yet anymore, so he decided to solve this case, because without a distraction no second was bearable.

He made his way to the nearest bookshop from that chain which coincidentally was the one that had the last kidnapping near it. That was the connection; they were all last seen in a half a mile radius from one exact bookshop chain. The closest to 221B was about one and a half miles from them. It was funny, he'd never heard of that shop before, though it seemed to be everywhere. "Sibman's Books"

Sherlock quickly went downstairs while closing his coat and got out of the flat. He stepped out to the street, looking left then right, and jogged across it. He had to admit that that rush of excitement when he had a new mystery to solve was surprisingly one of the things he'd missed the least, but still he had to smile a little, as he was at the very least already back to that part of his life. After having walked for a fair amount of time, he finally could see the bookshop. It seemed quite simple, but also was only built on one floor, which didn't make much sense as it was considered a large chain. He cautiously approached it and then saw the "closed" sign. Just as he wanted to try and unlock the shop door he noticed that it was actually already open. How practical.

Slowly he pushed the door open making sure it did the least cracking as possible. His eyes flashed around the room.  
_Observation #1: The lights, the computer and every other electric device are switched off.  
Deduction #1: Whoever opened that door before me isn't supposed to be here either._

Observation #2: There are some books knocked over further away. Others, which are closer, have been put back on the shelves but at the wrong place, always one level lower then their original spot.  
Deduction #2:Probably a group of two people, the one walking in the front tall, the one in the back smaller. The smaller one clearly cares more, as he/she put back the books after the taller one knocked them over, but he/she then stopped picking them up.

_Observation #3: The plan of the book shop, showing that this store actually keeps going under- rather than over ground, has been marked with a red pen, specifically the lowest floor, which coincides with the direction that the group of two were going.  
Deduction #3: The taller of the two, most likely the leader was showing the smaller one where to go and then rushed in that direction, evidently knocking the books over. The other was probably a little stunned by the other's hurry, then took the time to pick up the books, but most likely stopped as he/she realised that he/she was losing the taller one.  
_  
Sherlock chuckled lightly and followed the trail of books until he reached an elevator. He pressed the button and impatiently waited for the lift to open. He rushed in and pressed the button bringing him to a level four bellow. He tapped his feet nervously on the ground as he stared at the number slowly changing:  
_  
0... -1... -2... -3... -4_

The door opened with a small bell ringing and with quick paces Sherlock looked around.

_Observation #4: There shouldn't be any daylight that reaches here, but there is a clear light source. The lights are switched on.  
Deduction #4: They managed to break in here without setting off an alarm so they most likely aren't stupid enough to leave the lights on, meaning they're still here._

Sherlock cautiously took a step forward, his eyes flashing in every direction.  
"Hello?" he asked. Just then he saw some movement in the corner of his eye. Sherlock frantically turned his head, finding himself staring at a bunch of atlases. He took two steps so he could peek around the corner. All he saw was the broom, which hit his face and then darkness.

Sherlock's head hurt, and his eyes didn't want to open. He rolled over a little, his eyes still shut. Slowly he placed his hands on the ground trying to sit up.  
"Don't get up! You might have a concussion", a voice suddenly said.  
Sherlock slumped back letting out a groan.  
"You all right?" the voice asked worriedly.  
"Yes, yes I think so."  
"Good!"  
Sherlock's eyes ripped open, and what happened next seemed to happen in slow-motion:  
He found John's face leaning right in front of his looking extremely angry at him. John sat up and grabbed the broom, with which he'd hit Sherlock previously and heaved it behind him. Sherlock stared at him in shock mouthing something in-between "No", "Sorry" and "What the hell?". Just before the broom was going to hit Sherlock's head for a second time within five minutes, Sherlock heard a voice cry "No!" and from a place that wasn't in Sherlock's eyesight before hurried a tall, dark haired man who then took the broom with both hands pushing John back and making sure he couldn't attack him. They both fought a couple seconds, then John looked at him grimly for a moment and let go of the broom. The man smiled satisfied and threw the broom behind him.

Sherlock had sat up in the mean time and was just staring at the two with an open mouth.  
"John!" he cried happily, overlooking the fact that he'd just tried to knock him out again.  
"Sherlock," John replied, clearly not as impressed. Sherlock pushed himself up, and unsteadily made his way to his former flatmate who was standing between maps of Scotland and London tourist guides.  
"John!" he repeated out of breath. John stared at him silently, clearly still furious, but holding his anger back now.  
"John?" Another voice, that was oddly familiar, asked. Sherlock looked to the side were the man whom that voice was, was standing.

_Observation: Bow Tie, tweed jacket, suspenders, dark hair, stupid, annoying, yet welcome grin, sonic screwdriver, key which he thinks makes me not notice how ridiculous he looks...  
Deduction: Hello, Doctor.  
_  
"Doctor!" Sherlock said, his voice bewildered, glad and irritated at the same time.  
"Doctor?" John said poking his head between the two, first glaring at Sherlock, then the Doctor, then Sherlock again. He stepped back and looked at both at the same time, his fingers pointing at one then the other in shock.  
"_You_ two, know each other?!" he asked.  
Sherlock looked back at him, remembering his situation.  
"Oh... Yeah, long story. He needed somebody to cut a wire."  
"And he told me it was the wrong one." The Doctor said with misplaced pride. Sherlock rolled his eyes, then remembered he had unfinished business.  
"John... I suppose you'd like an explanation..." John lowered his eyebrows in irritation and crossed his arms.  
"You know what? Save it. I have better things to do than to listen to how brilliant you are for surviving a three storey fall, or knowing that it wasn't the blue wire, or whatever it is you want to tell me."  
"I... No, that wasn't it, and it _was_ the blue wire by the way, but that's not the point, I wasn't planning on explaining _how _I did it but more w-"  
"Oh? So "the fake death of the may-or-may-not-be-fake genius" remains a mystery forever?"  
"No! That just isn't important right no-"  
"Yes, you're right", John interrupted a third time, "We have people to save."  
"People to save?" Sherlock asked confused.  
"Well, I'm guessing you're here for the same reason as we are." Sherlock had completely forgotten about that.  
"The disappearings." he whispered, while John nodded, confirming his assumption, "The fifteenth kidnapping, probably taken and kept here."  
John laughed at that.  
"Why are you laughing?" Sherlock asked confused.  
"Because the "Great Sherlock Holmes" got it wrong." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  
"They aren't being kept in these bookstores", the Doctor jumped into the conversation,  
"They've been converted."  
"Converted?"  
"Converted into Cybermen, machines of metal, emotionless, with a heart of steel. The only human part left of them is their brain..." he said looking down. There was a short silence and suddenly John started laughing again, almost becoming hysterical. Both the Doctor and Sherlock turned their heads and stared at him, not seeing any humour in this situation.  
"What's so funny?" the Doctor asked.  
"It's just..." John giggled a little more, took a few breaths and sighed, finally managing to speak again after his laugh-flash, "What you just said, Doctor, could've been..." he took another deep breath as he was almost starting to laugh again, "...a description of Sherlock."

The two taller men continued staring at the smaller one, both remaining silent at the other's response. Sherlock waited for anything to be added, maybe a "That wasn't what I meant" a "Sorry" or even just a "No offence", but nothing came. He swallowed hardly then turned his head back to the Doctor.  
"Why here? Why 'Sibman's Books'?"  
"They created this chain a couple months ago. Not very original of them changing it from Cyberman to Sibman. It has a perception filter on it, which is why only your clever mind could find the connection between all fifteen kidnappings." Sherlock nodded.  
"The conversion is loud and generally makes a mess, therefor the odd way the bookstore is built. They can do it underground where no one will notice." There was a beat.  
"What happened to you two exactly?"  
"Ah, well this is where it gets complicated." The Doctor grinned.

_Two hours earlier_

John

_There was an odd wheezing sound that filled 221B. John looked up from his laptop screen. His mug was already pressed against his mouth, ready to take a sip of the nice brown brew. He cautiously put the tea down while staring at the massive blue box, which had materialized out of thin air in the middle of his flat. Quickly he pushed back his chair and stood up, knocking the tea on the desk over. A man in a tweed jacket and a ridiculous bow tie stepped out with a large smile on his face._  
_"Ah! You must be John Watson! I was just looking for you!" He said while running towards the stunned man and shaking his hand strongly._  
_"Oh dear, you let this fall, let me get that for you." He ducked over and picked up the cup from the ground, putting it back on the desk but ignored the spot forming on the carpet._  
_"W-Who are you? How did you get here?" John finally stuttered. The man got up again and turned back to him._  
_"You haven't noticed anything odd lately, right?" He said leaning his face in farther than John was comfortable with. John needed to think about that for a moment._  
_"I think I'm staring at it."_

_"Really?" The stranger turned around to look in the same direction as John was looking, finding nothing that could be considered 'odd'._  
_"Yes, the wallpaper is hideous if that's what you mean." he said still searching for something else._  
_"Who are you?" John repeated after having recovered from the initial shock._  
_The other looked back at him clearly frustrated._  
_"But there must be something! The TARDIS sensed that there were cybermen near by, trying to convert London."_  
_"You- what?"_  
_"The TARDIS tracked the cybermen attempting to convert all of London. Pay attention, dumby!" The man said even more annoyed._  
_"Okay, what is 'the TARDIS'?" John asked._  
_"My space craft and time machine." The man said as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. He reminded him just a little bit of Sherlock._  
_"Okay, now I know you're insane."_  
_"Insane? _Me_?!" He said pointing at himself insulted then laughed. John raised his eyebrows at the odd reaction._

_"What exactly are you even doing here, mister?" The stranger stopped laughing and suddenly got a serious face.  
"That's right, I need your help."  
"To stop the 'cybermen'?"  
"Exactly, now get your coat, and let's go!"  
"What? No! You're just a madman anyway!"  
"So? There are lives at stake!"  
"Lives? Whose lives?"  
The other man bent over and took the nearest newspaper from John's desk and handed it to him.  
"Page four." he said. John took it and opened the newspaper on that page. He read the article through then looked up.  
"So you think these kidnapped people are linked to your 'cybermen'?"  
"No, not linked.", he took a step closer to him, grabbed the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table, "They _are_ the cybermen."  
"Okay..." John thought a little, weighing out his options, "Prove it. Prove that that is a spaceship slash time machine, and I'll help you with whatever." The man grinned.  
"With great pleasure!" He ran through the flat and grabbed John's coat that was hanging next to the door, zoomed back at twice the speed, then took John's left arm. In the mean time John had quickly grabbed his gun from the drawer and slipped it into his pocket unnoticeably just encase this was in fact a serial killer.  
He let out a groan at the speed that he was being pulled into the blue police box.  
"What the-?" He said as his eyes captured the view of the magnificent, beautiful inside of the TARDIS. The stranger walked forward throwing John's coat carelessly on the steps then walked over to what seemed to be the control panel of the craft.  
"Isn't she a beauty?" he asked while sliding his hands affectionately down the panel.  
"Oh my god..." John breathed looking around in awe. The man skipped around the panel then flicked a few seemingly random switches and pulled a lever and suddenly everything started making a lot of noise. It first was similar to the noise John had heard when the TARDIS had arrived, but then it started sounding more scratchy and wrong. The man turned his head to John who hadn't moved since he'd got in and looked at him madly.  
"Oi! Close the door!"  
"Oh, right." John turned around and closed the wooden door, and the TARDIS started sounding like it did before. He cautiously took the stairs up to the main level and observed the stranger as he gracefully turned knobs, pressed buttons, flicked switches, pulled levers, basically every possible action one could do with a machine. The sound suddenly stopped, and the stranger nodded at John. John nodded back, walked back over to the door and opened it. He swallowed.  
"Yes, you're in space. No, this isn't a trick. Yes, I am mad. No, that doesn't mean you should stay away from me." The man answered John's not yet asked questions.  
"'Kay..." John turned around to look at him again. "One more question: Who the hell are you?"  
The man smiled.  
"I'm the Doctor."  
_

_The Doctor  
_  
After an explanation that took longer than he thought it would, the Doctor asked:  
"So, why did you come here?"  
"Well I'd wanted to-"  
"I'll tell you why," John said taking a step closer to him and Sherlock. "Because his work will always be the most important thing to him."  
Sherlock looked deeply... well, _hurt _by that, but he didn't say a word. The Doctor wondered if this was something even he couldn't fix. There was an awkward silence.  
"How about we go get ourselves some cybermen?" Sherlock asked, the upsetness replaced by excitement, but even the Doctor didn't believe that it was completely gone.  
He chuckled. "Good idea."  
"So what exactly do you suggest to do, Doctor?" John asked, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.  
"Well I'd say we keep looking for the passage. It has to be here somewhere!"  
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and held it to his ear, as he tapped on it lightly to change the frequency. He closed his eyes and concentrated as he slowly turned around and listened out for any change in the speed it was beeping.  
"Found it!" Sherlock cried out. The Doctor's eyes ripped open at the surprise and he frantically turned around. Sherlock had simply pushed a shelf aside and was smirking as he revealed a vaulted door. John rolled his eyes and Sherlock's smile immediately disappeared. The Doctor walked over to get a closer look at it, he then grinned, pointed the sonic at it and the door unlocked.  
"Well that was easier than initially thought," he said while putting the sonic back in his chest pocket.  
"Shall we?" he asked looking back at the two.  
Sherlock nodded, his eyes flashing over to John in anticipation.  
John thought for a moment.  
"Fine, but only because there are lives at stake."  
Sherlock pursed his lips then proceeded to going through the entry first. The Doctor followed and after some hesitation so did John. They were in a long dark tunnel network.  
"This network connects all the bookstores together", The Doctor explained though neither John nor Sherlock were really listening. The Doctor knew very well that John was in no way willing to forgive Sherlock and that Sherlock was upset because of that, but fixing these two's problem was only second on his list. All of London just had to come before.

But this seemed to be serious. Neither of them were talking, John wasn't even yelling at him for what he'd done. As if he didn't deem him worthy enough. Or was planning another attack on him.  
The silence between the two was getting unbearable. The Doctor turned around and looked at the two of them seriously.  
"Okay, this is getting too much for me, you two need to make up."  
Sherlock was just about to open his mouth to say something.  
"No", John simply said. Sherlock turned to look at him, as if he wanted to make sure that was honest.  
"Why?", he finally said, trying to supress the hurt.  
"Because I don't need you, Sherlock Holmes, and you made me only realize that today, made me still believe the opposite for three years. Thanks for nothing."  
"Bu-" Sherlock again wanted to explain, but John just raised his arm threateningly while forming a fist and Sherlock fell silent.  
"Stop trying to explain something that doesn't need an explanation!" John lowered his arm and continued walking. Sherlock stood still looking down and the Doctor looked at him. His face was blank, but his eyes were completely lost and broken.  
"Yes there does", he whispered and closed his eyes. The Time Lord placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and tried to reassure him with a gentle smile.  
"I'll sort you two out, I promise. But first I have to take care of the Cybermen." Sherlock nodded and kept walking, letting the Doctor's hand slip off him.  
He pulled out his sonic again and started scanning the surroundings of the cave for any alien technology. The screwdriver started flashing bright green and the Doctor smiled at himself.  
"Follow me!" He started running passed the two men who were walking in front of him with a huge grin of excitement on his face. John rolled his eyes and started running as well, closely followed by Sherlock. Suddenly he stopped at an intersection of tunnels. The Time Lord stretched out his arms and pulled John and Sherlock back.  
"What is it?" asked John curiously looking around. The Doctor motioned his mouth with his index finger and hushed him.  
"What is it?" John repeated in a whisper.  
"Can't you hear that?" the Doctor asked as he looked around to place the sound. John did so too but couldn't hear a thing other than his own racing heart beat.  
"It sounds like..." said Sherlock who finally heard it as well, "like heavy foot steps approaching."  
"We have to hide! Quick!" the Doctor exclaimed looking around for a place they could hide from the cybermen coming nearer and nearer.  
"Here!" John said and the Doctor span on his heal to see what he meant. The ex-army doctor was pointing towards a small empty bin. The alien rubbed his hands together.  
"Works for me!"  
John opened the bin and stepped inside. The Doctor walked over to it and got into it too. He looked around and frowned.  
"But there isn't any space for Sherlock." The consulting detective walked over to the bin and looked inside. Again the Doctor wasn't quite sure what expression he was showing but if he would've had to guess he'd have said disappointment.  
"Well isn't that just too bad?" John remarked bitterly. The Doctor glared at him and was just about to get out the bin so that Sherlock could fit in instead but in that moment the dark haired man exclaimed:  
"Oh, it's fine. I'll find another place."  
"Are you sure?" asked the Doctor worriedly. Sherlock smiled.  
"Of course I'm sure." Then he turned around and walked down the dark hallway until he was out of sight. The Doctor bit his lip and closed the lid of the bin when he heard that the heavy steps were getting closer. He closed his eyes and waited for the cybermen to pass, unhappy with John for what he'd just done.  
_  
John_

As they waited in the dark garbage compartment for god knows how long, John could feel the Doctor's mad gaze resting on him, even if it was pitch-black. He looked back to him, still not regretting sending the consulting detective away. Sherlock would be fine anyway, he just didn't want him around, that's all. He didn't want to hear his constant wannabe apologies, when all Sherlock wanted was someone he could look smart around.  
Thinking about this angered John even more, which made the Doctor staring at him made him feel uncomfortable.  
"What?!" he finally said maybe just a little bit too loudly. The Doctor's stare pierced him even more.  
"You know what, John."  
"Yes, I sent Sherlock away. What are you going to do? Have me arrested?"  
"John, the point is not that you sent him away, I've met him, I know he'll be fine. The point is that you aren't letting him explain."  
"Explain what, Doctor?" John asked seriously.  
"You don't know his side of the story, maybe he had all reason to do what he did."  
"Yes, maybe..." John mumbled, looking down and not really believing it.  
The two of them waited in the bin for a while until the cybermen's footsteps finally faded again. John waited for the approving nod of the Doctor and opened the lid of the metal compartment again. The odd duo slowly stepped out and looked around.  
"So where now, Doctor?" John asked, trying to change the subject. The alien looked at him grimly and simply walked passed him without saying a word. John pursed his lips and warily followed him down the dark, underground cave network.  
As he watched the man he'd only just met that day scan his surroundings with that curious screwdriver, he began  
to regret having sent Sherlock away. He didn't have to forgive him or take him back but he could've at least heard him out... Perhaps the Doctor was right; perhaps there was in fact a quite legitimate reason for Sherlock's three-year disappearance. He had just found out that day that time-travel and transferring human brains into metal was possible. Why wouldn't it be possible that Sherlock had a good reason? John decided that once this was over, he would let Sherlock talk, see if there was something they could do to solve this. If his reason were bad however, John would make sure there was another broom near by...  
He walked a little faster to catch up with his companion, attentively looking around.  
"So, what has the sonic found?"  
"Well, I've located the main base of the cybermen. That's where the conversions take place. It shouldn't be too far from here."  
"And what do we do once we get there?"  
"Stop the conversions and deactivate all the cybermen there."  
"We can't change them back in any way?" The Doctor looked back at him with a serious gaze.  
"No." John raised his eyebrows.  
"Why not?" If it was possible take a brain, unharmed, out of the flesh body, could putting it back in be that complicated?  
"Their body's are usually incinerated the moment the brain is removed, and even when they aren't, removing it is a brutal process..." He trailed off and sighed. John placed an arm around him comfortingly.  
"Well, I promise you, I'll do all in my power to stop it from happening again." The Doctor smiled at him thankfully then, rather surprisingly, kissed him on the mouth and kept walking.

For a second John just stood there in astonishment at the recent turn of events. He blinked a little and felt over the spot that were pressed against the Doctor's lips moments ago. He then furrowed his eyebrows and caught up with the Time Lord again.  
"What the hell was that?!" he asked while throwing his arms up in the air frantically.  
"I kissed you, obviously," said the Doctor.  
"And, why?!"  
"I don't know, I just felt like it, I guess." John couldn't have been more surprised by the Doctor's answer.  
"So this is what you do: Travel through time, save planets, kill monsters and kiss random people?"  
The Doctor made a childlike laugh.  
"Yeah, pretty much!" John had to laugh as well. After all, who couldn't really?

They entered a large, empty hall. The Doctor signalled John to keep quiet as they snuck across the room. In the corners of the rooms, John saw a row of chambers that fit about one person at a time. He assumed that the conversions were done there but didn't bother to ask. The Doctor pointed his sonic device in every direction, making sure they were actually alone. His expression softened and John presumed that meant they were. He turned around as slowly as possible, closely looking around the entire room. In the corner was a stack of bloody clothes, probably the already converted victims, and John quickly looked away in disgust.  
It was completely silent in the room. They could've heard a pin drop.  
"Where are the cybermen?" he asked.  
"They're probably hunting," said the Doctor. There was a clear supressing of anger there.  
"Hunting?"  
"Looking for flesh, or better said brains." John nodded and pursed his lips. He looked around the gigantic hall, searching it for some ways to put the convertors out of order.

Suddenly, he heard those heavy footsteps again and the Doctor and John simultaneously turned around. Three metal figures where slowly marching closer to them. John swallowed as for the first time in his life, he was facing cybermen. Fear crept over him while facing the robotic beasts, which were much taller than him and even a little taller than the Doctor.  
"Run!" the alien commanded and quickly took him by his left arm. Immediately John was pulled aback and turned around once he was conscious of what was going on.  
"Dammit," he whispered when two more Cybermen cut their path and soon they were surrounded. John and the Doctor stood back to back, still holding each other by the hand and simply stared at the steel men who stood in front of them.  
"What now?" John mumbled without turning around.  
"I'm sorry, John," was the only reply he got.  
"How reassuring." He closed his eyes, as two hands with superhuman force pulled him away from the Time Lord and tugged him towards the convertor. They ripped open again when suddenly what was going to happen to him occurred to him.  
"No, no!" he screamed and tried to pull himself back from the cyberman holding him.  
"_No_!" he yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes in rage. The machine holding him just kept pushing him closer to the convertor, showing no sign of reaction. John kept trying to pull himself free but it seemed as if the cybermen just kept holding onto him more tightly. He managed to turn around and clearly see that the Doctor wasn't being converted (probably due to him not being human) and forced to watch, as his soul would soon be taken away. The door to the convertor opened and the robot pushed him in, attaching him to the wall with chains. It stepped out and was just about to start the machine. In that last moment a million things went through John's head. In that last millisecond, he decided that yes, he did forgive Sherlock, whatever his reason, and most importantly, he needed him now more than ever.  
"Sherlock! Help me! Please! Sherlock..."  
But no one came; Sherlock didn't come springing out of a corner heroically, ready to save them all, and John realized that it was probably his fault; he probably left, feeling unwanted. The only thing that happened was that it seemed to take longer than he thought for the cyberman to start the convertor. John gave the world his last farewells and watched, as the cyberman reached for the last lever.

Instead it suddenly forced its arm into the machinery, causing sparks to fly around. The cuffs that had been holding John in place sprang open, and his mouth fell open in surprise. What had happened?  
His eyes flashed over to the four remaining cybermen surrounding the Doctor who seemed to be holding their heads in pain. The Time Lord looked around at them with wide eyes and quickly ran away as suddenly the cybermen's heads began exploding off, as it seemed; all but the one that still had its arm buried in the convertor. John shielded his face from the blazes and felt hot wind blowing against him. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the painful boom to soften. He looked up when he was left but in silence and cautiously looked around:  
The by now headless cybermen lay on the floor around the Doctor who was staring at them in surprise. The other still had its hand deep inside the machinery. John finally overcame the initial shock and ran out of the convertor to join the Doctor.  
"Wh-What just happened?" he asked the Time Lord gingerly. The Doctor looked up from the metal wreckage below him.  
"That cyberman, the faulty one, he seems to have broken the machinery that stops them from having any emotions... Getting them back hurts so much that they die almost instantly of an overload." John nodded then turned is head to the inanimate cyberman. Compelled to find out more, he slowly stepped forward to it until he was right next to it.  
"Hello? Are you there?" John asked after a hard swallow.  
The steel man didn't answer.  
"Hello?" John repeated loudly.  
No reaction.  
John thought a little. "Why did you help us?" He asked curiously.  
The machine remained inanimate. John felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around in surprise. His look softened when he saw the Doctor standing next to him.  
"It's probably dead as well. Come on, let's go look for Sherlock." John smiled.  
"Good idea."  
The two of them turned around and started walking towards the exit of the large room.

Suddenly, a loud noise came from behind them. It sounded like metal rubbing against metal. John and the Doctor both turned around simultaneously and ran back to the cyberman which was now retracting its arm from the machinery.  
"It's animate!" whispered John. He completely forgot about the Doctor and ran towards the metal man.  
"So, why did you help us?" he asked.  
The cyberman put its arm down and very slowly turned to face John, staring at him with the blankest of faces.  
When the machine didn't answer once again, John frowned and was just about to leave again when suddenly, it spoke with a mechanical and alien voice.  
"Because..." John looked up in surprise and eagerly waited for the cyberman's response.  
"...That's what friends do, right; Protect each other?"  
There was only one person in the world to which those words could belong; John just didn't want to believe it.

His mouth fell open for a while and he stared up at the steel being with eyes that were beginning to tear up. He bit his lip and shook his head.  
"No... No, you can't be him."  
Again the cyberman didn't responded. John lifted his arms up in rage.  
"Tell me you're not him!"  
"I..." was all the machine said. John let out a sob and dug his face into his hands, his legs crumpling to the ground.

_No, no, no. It wasn't supposed to go that way. I was supposed to give him another chance I...  
_"I'm sorry," he whispered, remembering what caused it all:  
In his head, was the clear image of the last time he'd seen Sherlock: Walking away from them in the dark cave, after he'd rejected him; this was all his fault.  
"I'm sorry," John repeated over and over again, still sitting on the moist ground and sobbing into his arms.

"Don't be," said a familiar, soft baritone which John could never, ever misplace. He looked up and found himself in a beautiful meadow. Curiously he got up and carefully examined his surroundings. There was a forest behind him and flowers of every colour grew in the grass. The sky was a nice light blue, the blue stretching out as far as the eye could see, all the way to the horizon.  
Suddenly something, or rather someone caught his eye. He stood a good ten feet away from him, but John could still make out every detail of his face:  
His skin was the exact alabaster that John remembered, and his eyes were that same icy blue he recalled. His dark brown locks slowly blew in the breeze just the way that they always had when the wind was like this. Even his old, long Belstaff trench coat and the blue scarf was identical to the one John's former flatmate always wore. Everything looked perfect, only the odd and stiff way Sherlock stood in the middle of the field revealed the bitter truth.

John pressed his lips together as he realized this meadow -and the man he was staring at- were but a figment of his imagination. He swallowed the pain down and took a couple steps closer to the taller man whose expression was unreadable.  
Sherlock held his hands in his pockets and glared at John blankly. The blonde man wanted to take his friend's hand, however, he stopped just before touching him when Sherlock said:  
"Don't." He sighed, closed his eyes for a couple minutes, then looked up to him, the light from the sun just behind him causing him to squint. He couldn't think of anything to say, except...  
"How... How come you're still you?" For the first time since they'd arrived in this fictitious place, John recognized an expression on the other's face. Sherlock pierced him with his striking blue eyes, his mouth curled into a sad frown.  
"It doesn't work on me," was all he said. The words echoed in John's head three times before they actually sank in.  
"What do you mean?" Sherlock looked at him more seriously than ever, and John couldn't quite understand how this conversation was even possible.  
"Because," the taller man began to explain, "Because, I already have a heart of steel."  
It was getting harder and harder to hold the tears back, but John knew that crying now would just be a waist of precious time.  
"D-don't say that... Please..." he begged while sniffling a little.  
"Why not?" asked Sherlock harshly, "You said it too, just before! We both know you were right, John!"  
"I... I didn't mean it that way... I'm sorry, Sherlock! I didn't want this to-" He broke off and wiped the tears off his face. Sherlock took a step closer to him and stared down at him curiously.  
"You didn't want this to what?"  
"I didn't want this to happen..." John murmured quietly.  
Sherlock pursed his lips and didn't reply. John looked back up to him and thought it was extremely hard to believe that this place, this beautiful, peaceful place they found themselves in, couldn't be real. The two stared at each other in silence, until someone finally broke the ice between the two again.  
"Did it hurt?" John asked cautiously. Sherlock looked at him in surprise. He then thought a little about his answer.  
"Like hell."  
"What does it feel like?" He threw another question at him, without really thinking of the consequences.  
"Like..." Sherlock lightly shook his head as he gazed upon the relaxing, beautiful view.  
"It feels like all the pain you've ever felt, all the hurt, all the sorrow, it gets concentrated in one spot. Then for a second all you see is blood."  
Right on queue, John's mind couldn't help but add one drop of blood that slowly rolled down Sherlock's face while he continued to explain:  
"It hurts so much and then it's just suddenly... gone."  
John thought a little about what he said while looking down at his own feet. The tears started streaming out again, and he slowly lifted his head.  
"So... what do we do now?"  
"Nothing."

John felt sick, as if he was about to throw up, or pass out any second. He sobbed loudly and closed his eyes tightly while throwing his arms around his friend. At the slightest touch however, he felt cold metal instead of human flesh and instantly flinched away from is friend. Everything was dark and gloomy again. And once more, John found himself glaring at a tall cyberman, which contained the only remainders of his friend. He took a shuddered breath and two steps back, in fear that somehow Sherlock's mind had completely left it.  
"I told you not to touch me..." came the mechanical voice of the steel robot.  
John tried so hard to get the image of Sherlock back, but he was gone, all he could see was what they'd turned him into.  
"What woke you up?" He asked another insensible question.  
"When I'd put you in the machine... You cried my name. I guess it brought a lot memories back..."  
So John had awoken him?  
"You said that there was nothing we could do. What does that mean, Sherlock?"  
"It means," said the computer-generated voice, but when John concentrated, he was sure he could also hear a soft and deep man's voice echo it, "that this isn't your fault."  
John laughed and sniffled again. "Don't be daft, Sherlock, of course it's my fault!"  
"Please, do not blame yourself. Take it as my last request." John looked up alarmed.  
"Your last _what_?!"  
"Goodbye, John, it was nice seeing you one more time."  
"No, _no_!" John ran back to him and held onto his arms. Just as he arrived, he saw the only light that he could find on the cybermen up to now, the one coming from its mouth, slowly fade from the bright blue it was to a lifeless black.  
"Stop it, Sherlock, we can work this out!" For the third time, the cyberman in front of him replied to him with silence, only this time, he felt no gaze resting on him. Sherlock Holmes had come back to life and died within less than two hours. John's entire body was shaking and he knew that he was going to fall down again if he didn't hold onto something soon. Everything went blurry as the tears came pouring out. Never before had he felt Sherlock's absence as strongly as he did in that very moment. As his legs gave in simultaneously a loud yell escaped his lips, he fell forwards into the arms of the dead machine, which contained the lifeless mind of the consulting detective. The metal tipped backwards at the slightest it of pressure and before he knew it, John was lying on the body of a box of metal, crying his eyes out.

The guilt, it hurt so much. All he could think of was Sherlock walking away in the tunnel network, all because John had been so stubborn about his explanation. He didn't even know Sherlock's explanation. But it didn't matter, however bad what Sherlock had done could be, it was no match for what he did. This was all his fault.  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's my fault, I didn't want this to happen."

"He didn't want this to happen either."  
John's eyes opened in shock. He'd forgotten. Someone else was here too. With a grunt he pulled himself away from the cyborg. It didn't feel right hugging it... John looked up to the Doctor, who was carefully observing him with crossed arms.  
"He didn't want you to do this to yourself. It was his last request."  
John became furious and stood up so that he at least was only somewhat smaller than the Doctor.  
"I let him go, how could you _not_ expect me to blame myself?!"  
The Doctor's eyes looked slightly watery as well. John remembered that he too had lost a friend today.  
"Because Sherlock's right, it isn't your fault. It isn't your fault that no human can recover their memories _and_ survive the conversion."  
"You're wrong." John said simply. The Doctor looked at him confusedly.  
"John, it isn't possible for a human to-"  
"He would've survived; he chose to go. _I_ did the impossible today, Doctor!" John lifted his arms up as his fury grew.  
"I made his life such a living hell, that Sherlock Holmes had self-pity!" He practically spat the words out. The Doctor tried to bring him to senses.  
"But John-"  
"You know why, I blame myself, Doctor?" The Doctor didn't reply.  
"It's because I don't want to just blame the universe, accept that this is what happened. I want someone to pay, even if that's me." He reached for the gun in his pocket that he had taken along and pointed it at his head, trying to blink away the tears. His hand was shaking a little as he pushed the trigger down and stared at the barrel, simply waiting for the right moment.  
"John! Don't, please!" The Doctor begged, but John had no intention on listening.  
"Don't make what he did meaningless!" John didn't understand. He lowered the gun a little and stared at the Doctor incredulously.  
"What are you talking about?" John hissed.  
"He sacrificed himself for you, he saved the entire city, don't make it meaningless."  
"He didn't sacrifice himself, sacrifice means you have a choice."  
"And Sherlock chose to make sure you, and I, and all of London were safe when it made no more difference to him."  
"That isn't sacrifice." John lifted the gun again and was just about to pull the trigger when the Doctor spoke again.  
"Yes, it is, because what Sherlock said was true, being converted hurts like hell, but getting your memories back, and your emotions... That is a completely new level of pain. It's so strong that any effort in thinking straight just multiplies it exponentially. He could've just decommissioned himself right away the moment he knew what was going on. But he didn't."  
John was grimacing as he continued staring at the gun. He would do it. He was going to do it. He had to do it. He-

_Please, do not blame yourself. Take it as my last request._

-couldn't do it. He couldn't just throw away what Sherlock had suffered for, what he had wanted to happen. With a huge sob he let go of the gun and fell to the floor, the Doctor catching him just in time.  
"There, there..."

_One Year Later_

It was slightly drizzling on the day of the anniversary, the day that Sherlock Holmes came back, and the day that he died. John was wearing the old blue scarf, stained in dry blood. It was the only whole piece of clothing that they had found. As he held the black umbrella, John stared at the engraving of the stone:

SHERLOCK HOLMES  
1981-2015  
"When you have ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be true."

He smiled, in the memory of his friend, then winced remembering that emptiness he always felt when he thought of Sherlock. It was fine though, at least most of the time. He had stopped blaming himself when he realized that it wouldn't make Sherlock anymore alive to do so. Behind John came a slightly familiar wheezing. He didn't flinch, or even turn his back when the steps came from behind him. The Doctor stood next to him, staring at the gravestone as well. John turned to look at him; he hadn't aged a day. One year had passed far slower for John.  
They remained there for a moment of silence, remembering. They remembered the experiments, and the harpoon, and the time that he stopped the Doctor from cutting the red wire when it was in fact the blue one, the pain, the joy, the violin, the moments when he was a disgusting human being just as much as the ones when no one was more human than him. Shortly; they remembered the life as well as the death of _the_ Sherlock Holmes.

"Do you know," the Doctor finally said, "I was thinking, maybe... you would want to come along with me."  
John looked up in surprise at the offer. He'd never even dreamt of anything like it. It was an honour being asked and he was sure it would be amazing. John's eyes looked back at the tombstone.  
"No." The Doctor's hopeful face dropped.  
"Why not?"  
"Because, time with you will always lead to this." He pointed at the black marble.  
"Not _always_!" John looked at him seriously.  
"One time is already too much, don't you think?" The Time Lord didn't reply. John turned around and walked away. He listened to the sound of the TARDIS dematerializing and then the sound of the finger tapping of the raindrops, hitting the umbrella.  
That was the last time the Doctor ever came to the annual grave visit, and John never saw him again.

**_A/N: Awww, sorry for the feels, but I kind of... couldn't... resist... ;D Well, now that your finished, maybe :) post :) a :) review :) please :) I :) would :) really :) appreciate :) it :) No really! I would like to hear what you thought (even if it's "This story is crap") PLEEEEEAAAASE? :D Thanks for reading! 3_**


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